


Second Chances

by SkycladFox



Series: Zootopian Tails [4]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Drama, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Intimacy, Mystery, Nudity, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-09-17 14:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16976514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkycladFox/pseuds/SkycladFox
Summary: When Fangmeyer is assigned to protect Fabienne Growley from a particularly unpleasant stalker, seeds planted in the past may finally bloom.  A quiet romance.





	1. Fangmeyer's Assignment

**Author's Note:**

> Whilst musing over possible female/female couples among canon Zootopia characters, a potential pairing came to me that I don't believe anyone else has tried. You tell me if it works.

Fangmeyer followed Chief Bogo into his office, taking a seat when told to and waiting patiently while he sorted through the small stack of files on his desk. A shimmer of nerves were running through the tiger, but their studiously focused and alert face let none of them show. When the buffalo located the file he wanted, and set his glasses on his nose, they sat up a little straighter, ears pointing attentively forwards.

“Fabienne Growley, co-anchor of ZNN,” Bogo explained, “has recently received a number of threatening letters, all from the same person, all demanding she submit to the writer, or there will be consequences.”

“A stalker,” Fangmeyer surmised. “And a nasty one.”

“Exactly.” Bogo gave a sole, curt nod. “Given Ms Growley is currently on sabbatical to deal with some family matters – more fallout from the night-howler case – this is particularly poorly timed. The most recent missive is especially concerning, as the writer has somehow found out that Ms Growley intends on modelling for a life-drawing class” – one heavy brow rose at this – “something she apparently was fond of when younger and hopes will help her find some equilibrium again now.”

Fangmeyer's eyes had widened a notch. “I see.”

“The stalker doesn't approve of this at _all_ , and is threatening trouble if it goes ahead. Ms Growley insists it will, and this is where you come in. _We_ insisted an officer be present at the class, just in case, since the threat was quite severe, and she agreed. For some reason I'm hoping will become clear very soon, she asked for it to be _you_...”

“She remembers,” Fangmeyer breathed, eyes even wider. Then they clicked back to attention. “We knew each other, Sir, briefly, back when I was a rookie, and she was a junior reporter. Art is a hobby of mine; at that time I attended a number of life-drawing classes, and Ms Growley was one of the models; the best, in my opinion. We talked after class, went for a few drinks together, and something seemed to be growing between us, but then...then the Clipper case happened.”

“Unpleasant business, that.” Bogo's tone had softened minutely. “My first case as Chief. I recall you got a commendation and a promotion out of it. Some fine work.”

“Yes, and thank you, Sir, but...” Striped ears dipped slightly. “It meant I had so little time to myself I wasn't able to meet with Ms Growley.” A faint sigh slipped free. “And then she was promoted – for her reporting on the same case, ironically enough – and that was that. I'm honestly surprised she remembers me; it's been a few years, after all.”

“Well, isn't that interesting.” Something twitched across Bogo's snout Fangmeyer was tempted to call a smirk. “All that considered, it seems to me you're the ideal choice for this, if you're willing...”

“Yes, Sir.” The tiger's nod was little stronger than they'd intended.

The possible smirk briefly resurfaced. “Good. The class is scheduled for Saturday evening. Your task is to attend, observe, and if anything untoward should occur, respond as you see fit.” The buffalo passed the file over. “You'll find everything you need to know in here, including the location. Tell no one, and report directly to me. Clear?”

“Crystal.” Fangmeyer's mind was racing; they hoped it didn't show.

“Very good. Unless you have any questions...” Bogo let the sentence hang, to no response. “You're dismissed.”

The tiger stood, crisply saluted, then turned and paced for the door.

“Oh, and Adelina...”

Fangmeyer cringed, and turned around. “Yes, Sir?”

The smirk was undeniable, this time. “Second chances don't show up very often. If I were you, I wouldn't let this one slip away.”

The tiger smiled. “I intend to grasp it with both paws, Sir.”

 


	2. Life-drawing Class

Fangmeyer chose a chair that afforded her a decent view of the door and the long window, and sat down, resting the board provided across her knees, and her own paper and pencils atop that. Twenty of them, all sized for large mammals, surrounded a wide, padded platform, and another waited in a corner with a small bottle of water for company, obviously intended for the model's use. To the right of it, as the tigress looked, was a door, from which she guessed Fabienne Growley would emerge when the time came.

Through the main door other mammals were filtering, choosing seats and quietly chatting, until only two were left empty. A tall and elegant coyote whose muzzle was greying slightly moved to stand in the centre of the room, by the platform, and cleared his throat. A hush soon fell, and he nodded thanks.

“My name is Ralph Wiley,” he informed everyone, his voice quiet and smooth and somehow managing to carry very well. “I'll be leading the class this evening. I thank you all for coming, and I hope this session will prove instructive and enjoyable. It's scheduled to last roughly two hours, with twenty minutes allotted to each pose. I will be circulating throughout, freely dispensing advice and suggestions; do not be afraid to ask me things, but please respect others.

“On that note, I must stress: _respect the model_. Don't stare too long, don't distract them, don't even approach them until class is over, and then only if allowed by the model, and if anybody is found to be taking photos they will be required to delete those images, then security will escort them out. Is everyone clear on this?”

Nods of assent.

“Wonderful!” He smiled and lightly clapped his paws. “In which case, please welcome our model for the evening: Ms Fabienne Growley.”

Hushed gasps and exclamations bubbled throughout the room as the door in the corner opened, and the snow leopard stepped out. Clad in a long, dark blue robe she moved gracefully to the middle of the room and up onto the platform; she waited for the chatter to die down then revolved fluidly on the spot, politely acknowledging everyone. When her eyes lit on Fangmeyer, whose stomach was now home to a pawful of butterflies, they shone a little brighter, and her smile widened.

Mr Wiley clapped his paws again. “If we are ready...” He looked about the room; no-one spoke. “We shall begin...”

Fabienne sloughed her robe, handing it to the coyote, then settled in a simple reclining pose, lying on one side, her head propped up on one paw while her other arm trailed along her flank, her lightly folded legs resting one on the other, and her tail curling over her knees. That she ended up facing Fangmeyer was unlikely to be a coincidence.

At first all the tigress could do was stare, mesmerised by the leopard's lush, silver-grey, rosette-dappled fur, that shaded to a shining white on stomach and chest, and the figure that seemed to have become even more poised and softly elegant in the intervening years. The warmth and humour in those light blue eyes was distracting, too.

Fangmeyer shook herself out of it, opened her pad, selected a pencil and started to loosely sketch, all the while keeping an eye on the other members of the class. Most were as engrossed in capturing a likeness of the mammal posing for them as she was, the only sounds the light scratching of pencils and charcoal on paper and the murmurs of Peter as he worked his way round the ring. The sole exception was a young red deer who was spending much more time gazing than drawing, but a sharp look from the coyote quickly changed that.

It was towards the end of Fabienne's third posing period, sitting with legs crossed, elbows resting on knees, paws linked, chin on those, eyes closed and tail trailing out behind, that Fangmeyer realised something had changed in the room. A box, plain silver-grey cardboard, now sat on the chair in the corner, which the snow leopard had indeed used for brief rests between poses, and it made her whiskers twitch.

A small but persistent knot of tension forming in her gut, she itched to investigate, but Mr Wiley chose that moment to join her. While he discussed her efforts – mostly complimentary, with a few suggestions for better shading and a query as to why the model had been depicted with an earring when they clearly weren't wearing one – Fangmeyer's attention was locked on the box.

Tension spiked to fear when Ralph called the end of the third period, and Fabienne rose, moving over to the chair. Fangmeyer dropped her board and leapt up, but before she could get round the room the snow leopard had lifted the lid; with a bang loud enough to make everybody jump scarlet liquid erupted from it, splattering their face and chest.

“What was _that_?!” someone shrieked; shock was pulsing in the room.

“Somebody's idea of a prank, I think.” Fabienne kept her composure admirably, though her tail tip was flicking. She looked to the tiger who had just reached her. “I'm fine, though my ears will probably ring for a while. I won't hold this against you or the organisation, Mr Wiley.”

“Thank you.” Ralph looked chastened. “But I still feel responsible. Did anyone see anything?”

A muddled chorus of negatives came in response.

“Unfortunate.” Mr Wiley rubbed the bridge of his nose. “This class is over; I can't in good conscience continue. Ms Growley – do you wish to report this incident to the authorities?”

Fabienne shook her head. “No. I'd be obliged if no-one spoke about this, either.”

A few grumbles rose, but a stern look from Fangmeyer quieted them, then Mr Wiley ushered them all out. Before leaving himself, he turned to the cats. “I just want you to know you were a wonderful model, Ms Growley, and we'd be happy to work with you again, although...it's the first time a _model_ has stared too long at a _student_.”

The snow leopard's ears faintly coloured. “Thank you for having me.”

“We should get you clean.” Fangmeyer suggested. “Good thing this is just water coloured to look like, well...”

“Blood.” Fabienne collected the box. “Come on, Lina.”

Ignoring a faint shiver, the tiger followed the snow leopard through to the other room, which proved to be a small bathroom, with four stalls and three sinks and a neat little pile of clothes on the floor. Fabienne tore some paper towels from a dispenser and set to dabbing her coat dry, while Fangmeyer examined the box, finding a note, and fished her radio from her trouser pocket.

“Fangmeyer to base. I need to speak to the Chief.”

“ _Putting you through now, Officer.”_ The night dispatcher responded.

“ _Something happen?”_ Bogo asked a second later, curtly.

“Booby-trap, Sir,” Fangmeyer replied. “A parcel. Ms Growley opened it before I could stop her, but fortunately it just sprayed water coloured to look like blood over her. No-one was hurt, just shocked.”

“ _A mercy. Do you know why Ms Growley wasn't suspicious?”_

“Because I believed it was from Peter,” Fabienne explained. “He likes to give supportive little gifts, and it's his pawwriting on the lid.”

Fangmeyer looked. The words 'a little something to encourage you' were written across the top of the box in a handsome script. “It does look like it, Sir. Everyone else believes this was a prank, but it has to be the stalker. They left a note.”

“ _Read it.”_

“It says, 'Defy my will again, my pet, and next time the blood on your paws will be real'.”

“ _That's them, all right. Did you recognise anyone, Ms Growley?”_

“No,” Fabienne shook her head. “Except Officer Fangmeyer.”

“ _Did anyone see anything?”_

“They say not,” the tiger reported. “I didn't, either, but there was no way I could watch the door constantly. It's possible the stalker snuck in and left the bomb without being noticed.”

“ _Or they got a student to lay it for them,”_ Bogo posited. _“Either way, the most worrying aspect is that they knew where Ms Growley would be. Wolford's close by, so I'll have him collect the box so we can look it over; we'll talk to the other attendees, too. You get Ms Growley home safely and stay with her from now on; don't take no for an answer.”_

“I'm not going to argue,” Fabienne put in. “I could use the company.”

“ _Good. We're clearly dealing with someone capable and ruthless, so we can't take any more chances.”_

“Agreed, Sir. On that subject, I'm not sure it's wise for Ms Growley to return to ZNN just yet, not least as I'm starting to wonder if the stalker is working there.”

“ _I'd consider the likelihood high,”_ Bogo concurred. _“It helps to explain a great many things.”_

“If they _are_ working for ZNN,” Fabienne interjected, “then maybe my return might help...smoke them out?”

“ _It's possible,”_ Bogo conceded. _“But dangerous, and not just for you.”_

“I understand that, which is why I'd want Officer Fangmeyer to come to work with me. Undercover, of course.”

“ _I'll take it into consideration. Fangmeyer, I'll call in the morning with any further instructions. Bogo out.”_

“Understood, Sir. Out.” The tigress stowed the radio, then turned her full attention to the snow leopard now standing before her, still nude, but clean and slightly damp. “Interesting reunion, huh?”

“Certainly not gone quite how I'd hoped.” Fabienne chuckled ruefully, her paws fidgeting. “But it's good to see you again, Lina.”

“Been much too long.” Fangmeyer sighed. “I've wanted to talk to you again, but every time something's come up.”

“And I got so swept up in my soaring career everything else fell by the wayside. I have a number of regrets, but...” The snow leopard's fingers brushed those of the tigress. “You're the biggest.”

Lina caught Fabienne's paw. “I've...often wondered what would have happened without the Clipper. If our paths hadn't diverged. I couldn't help thinking there was...”

“Something between us.” The smaller cat took the larger one's other paw. “Something that might still be there...”

“It might,” Fangmeyer agreed. Their noses were now only an inch or two apart, their gazes locked. “But can we do anything about it?”

“I'd like to try.” Fabienne's nose feathered Lina's. “My regrets would only grow if I didn't.”

“I...” Fangmeyer's ear twitched; a familiar engine was approaching. “I think we need to get moving. Wolford's arriving.”

Fabienne didn't move. “Promise me we'll talk about this.”

Lina drew a spotted paw to her muzzle, and kissed it. “I promise.”

 


	3. The Newsroom

Fangmeyer had sequestered herself in a corner of the huge main ZNN newsroom, a vast space crammed full of desks and alive with shifting monitors, including two banks hanging from the high ceiling. Amongst all this a hive of mammals buzzed, a low chatter of keys, pawsteps and voices omnipresent. Glossy glass doors led to offices for Fabienne and Peter Moosebridge, as well as the directors, the producers, and other anchors, and a large meeting room.

The snow leopard herself, impeccably attired in a plum jacket with a gold flower lapel pin, a pastel yellow shirt patterned with leaves, and a long plum skirt, was currently being welcomed back, at length, by her co-presenter. From the look on her face he was testing her patience a little, and when finally freed there was a perceptible sag of relief.

Fabienne came over, sinking into a chair next to the tiger. “He can be a little much, sometimes,” she chuckled, “but he means well. It seems he was going to give me a gift to support my modelling, but it and the box it was in went missing from his office at the last minute.”

“Which pretty much proves your stalker works here. Wait – he _knew_ you were modelling?”

Fabienne nodded. “It was Peter's idea. He even found the class.”

“So the stalker could have overheard him, or found the details in his office. How many people have access to it?”

“It's not locked, so, theoretically...everyone.”

“Great.” Fangmeyer sighed. “And how many mammals work here?”

“More than a hundred, and the turnover's quite high. High pressure working environment.”

The tigress groaned softly. “So the stalker might not even be here any more. Has anyone other than Mr Moosebridge reacted strongly to you today? Or strangely?”

“Not that I noticed. Have you seen anything?”

“No, but I can't begin to keep track of all the activity. When's the mail due? There might be another letter.”

“Actually, it's likely here by now. It's pretty prompt. I'll check.”

Fangmeyer watched her leave, trying to study everyone she passed as she wended her way across the newsroom, but saw nothing. A minute later she was back, carrying a fat package with her name printed on it, along with the address of the newsroom and an underlined insistence to 'rush to the addressee'.

The tigress opened it; inside was a note, and a stiff, blood red collar with the words 'PROPERTY OF JR' stitched around it in stark white. A shared shudder, then Fangmeyer read the note. “'I see you're still not listening to me, my pet, but I'll give you one last chance. Either you do your stint wearing this collar, and tell the whole city you're mine to do with as I please, or...or a bomb goes off in the newsroom'...”

Fabienne swallowed, trembling. “Oh, god...”

“'You try to evacuate, the bomb goes off. You get the police involved, the bomb goes off. You try to tamper with the bomb, it goes off. You have no choice but to follow my wishes, kitten; I own you, and I always will'.” Fangmeyer closed her eyes, taking a long, slow breath. “When's your stint start?”

“Fifty minutes.”

“Not much time.” The tiger grimaced. “I daren't even call the Chief.”

“If worst comes to worst, I'll do as they say.” Fabienne was nervously determined. “I can't risk...”

“We'll figure this out.” Fangmeyer patted her paw. “There has to be a way to beat them.”

Fabienne nodded, settling herself. “They have to be able to see what we're doing. See the bomb.”

“Hacked a security camera, maybe?”

Blue eyes widened. “Or they're watching the webcam!”

“You've a webcam? Where?”

“Corner across from ours. Gives a view across the newsroom and of the studio. Always live.”

“Can it see _us_?”

“No.”

“Good; that gives us a little freedom.” Fangmeyer thought hard. “The bomb _has_ to be visible on that camera, so it can't be under a desk or a chair. It's sitting in the open, but unnoticed; in a box or a bag, maybe, on someone's desk.”

Fabienne stood up, and cast her gaze around. “I can see a dozen bags and at least four boxes, but none of them stand out.”

“Well, they're hardly going to label it.” Fangmeyer permitted herself a grim chuckle. “ _But_ , it will have a wireless transmitter; they're not going to be anywhere near when they set it off.”

“No antennae sticking out an...wait.” Fabienne's head tilted. “There's one of Peter's boxes on Rudderly's desk, but there's no way he'd ever be gifted anything...”

Striped ears perked. “Why?”

“He's been here three or four months.” The snow leopard's gaze was distant. “And he's managed to alienate pretty much everyone. He's a good worker, but a really poor communicator. Barely talks, and won't say a word to...” She sagged back onto her chair. “Me. My god...”

Fangmeyer petted her paw. “Did he ever try anything with you?”

Fabienne shook her head. “No, but...now I think about it...he was so adamant about having that desk, and from it he can see right into my office. Now I'm wondering if that little camera someone saw him with isn't hidden on his desk somewhere...”

“Aimed right at you.” Fangmeyer squeezed the snow leopard's paw. “I think we have our stalker. Can you see him?”

Fabienne glanced around. “No. I think he was in earlier, but he's not here now. Must have put the package in the mail room, left the radio on his desk and gone.”

“All right.” The tigress nodded. “You'd better get back to work; you've already been here too long, and he might be getting suspicious. Don't tell anyone what's going on. Just act normal.”

“All right.” Fabienne exhaled, shook herself lightly, then leaned in, her whiskers tickling the tiger's. “Good luck.” The lightest of nuzzles, then she collected the collar and tucked it into a jacket pocket, stood up and headed across the room, looking every inch a professional newscaster.

Fangmeyer watched the other cat for a moment, then her focus was firmly on Rudderly's desk, and the box. As the minutes ticked steadily away she fought to work out a way of getting to it without being seen on the webcam, but kept coming up short. The room was far too open and the camera too high to make it anywhere near undetected.

With twenty minutes left, the tiger pulled out her phone and loaded the webcam's feed, discovering that it wasn't fully live, instead being a still image that updated every five seconds. She studied it for a while, noting the spots where she'd be able to hide, and began to form a plan that was a little desperate, but better than nothing.

With ten minutes remaining, Fangmeyer stood, watched for the cam image to change, then darted round the desks in front of her, dropped to the floor and pressed herself tight behind them. The next time the picture updated, she repeated the move, and in this fashion was able to reach the row of desks that Rudderly's was amongst.

Unfortunately, she was drawing attention from many of the mammals in the room, so she forced herself to stay put, willing everyone to stop looking. Fortunately, with a little help from Fabienne calling out for all the information they had on a certain story, they soon did. Four more dashes brought the tiger level with the box.

Now came the biggest problem – five seconds was likely not enough time to deal with the bomb, not least since she had no idea how it was built, and was far from an expert. Hurriedly, she ran through what she had been told of the first device – simple and clean with no frippery or trickery or failsafes – and reckoned the odds good of this one being the same. That gave her a small boost of confidence.

The many screens showing clocks told her there were three minutes left. She looked for Fabienne, spotting the snow leopard standing near the studio, preparing to enter, a paw fidgeting in the pocket that held the collar. They locked eyes for a second, and Fabienne blinked twice, then nodded languidly in the direction of the webcam.

Fangmeyer's confusion faded when she looked at her phone and saw the camera was now updating every ten seconds – twice as long a gap, and hopefully enough to nullify the bomb. Resolving to thank the pale cat profusely should they survive this, the tiger waited for the picture to change, then lunged for the box. She tore off the lid, saw an aerial and yanked it away, then closed her eyes and waited.

Nothing happened. After a good minute she opened them again, and they instantly went to Fabienne. The snow leopard smiled, pulled out the collar, dropped it into a waste basket, and entered the studio. The tigress, after a long exhale, took a longer look at the device, which was indeed simple, just a wireless receiver and a detonator wired to a lump of explosive. Without the signal, it appeared, it couldn't go off.

Even so, she put the lid back on, and pulled out her radio to call the Chief. Once all had been explained, and he'd confirmed an explosives officer would take charge of the bomb as soon as possible, she found a large enough unoccupied chair and sat down to wait. Fifteen minutes later the officer arrived and took the device, and Fangmeyer retired to her corner to wait for Fabienne's stint to end.

Not long before the snow leopard was due to exit the studio, an otter showed up that set alarm bells ringing loud for the tigress. His manner was edgy, and only grew more so as he passed the desk that no longer carried the bomb, tinged with a dark anger. Since he was a giant river otter, standing as tall as Fabienne and almost as tall as Fangmeyer, and powerful with it, that was worrying. Reaching the waste basket by the studio doors he pulled the collar out, glared at it, shattered the bin in one punch, pounding a dent in the wall behind it, then snarled with a muzzleful of sharp teeth at the snow leopard signing off close by.

Fangmeyer stood up, and started moving toward him. His head spun to her, he glared even more violently, then he took off running, straight for the door he'd entered through. The tigress tried to cut him off but missed by several feet; wrenching herself round she had a split-second glimpse of a large capsule of red liquid before it hit her in the chest.

Coloured water erupted over her, drenching her torso, splashing into her eyes, and taking her feet out from under her. She slammed into a desk, almost rocking it over, and sprawled across the floor; by the time she'd cleared her vision and pulled herself up Rudderly was long gone, and the entire newsroom was staring aghast at her.

Fabienne ran up. “Lina!”

“I'm fine.” Fangmeyer was more than a little angry with herself. “And I'm sorry. I thought he was going to attack you, so I tried to stop him, and now everyone...”

The snow leopard caught her paw, and started to lead her across the room. “Lina, he planted a _bomb_ in the middle of a newsroom. People were already realising something was up. Let's get you dry, and some peace to call this in. We know who it is now, so we've a much better chance of stopping him.”

“True.” Still a little subdued, Fangmeyer let Fabienne take her down a short passage to a small restroom.

“This is for the use of the 'talent' only,” the snow leopard explained as she closed the door. “So we won't be disturbed.”

“Thanks.” The tigress retrieved her radio, checked it was still working, and got through to Bogo. She related what had happened as Fabienne unbuttoned her shirt, bracing herself for a berating. It didn't come.

“ _In the circumstances, you did the right thing. If you hadn't acted, he very well could have attacked Ms Growley. I've no doubt he's growing desperate, and that just makes him more dangerous. You've hopefully rattled him enough to go to ground awhile, and that gives us a chance to track him and secure him. I'll put out an urgent city-wide APB, and speak to the media. Ms Growley, does he know where you live?”_

Fabienne, kneeling to ease the tiger's trousers down, sighed. “I don't know. It's possible.”

“ _Then I'd suggest finding somewhere else to stay for now.”_

Fangmeyer didn't hesitate. “Ms Growley can stay with me, Sir. I have the room, and there's no way he could know where I live.”

“ _Yet.”_ Bogo didn't sound convinced. _“But in lieu of other options, you have my permission. At the very least it might stymie him long enough for us to catch him. Be on your guard, and call in regularly. If you see him, don't engage; get out, and alert us. Your priority is Ms Growley's safety, not Rudderly.”_

“Understood, Sir. I'll only engage as a last resort.”

“ _Good. Check in when you get there. Bogo out.”_

“Yes, Sir. Out.” Fangmeyer tried to tuck her radio back in her pocket, realised she no longer had the pocket, and chuckled wearily. “Soaked me pretty good, huh?”

Fabienne nodded. “Even your underwear got wet.”

“You do realise I have no other clothing, right? It's not like I _expected_ to be drenched by a psychotic giant otter, after all.”

The snow leopard nosed her cheek. “You dry yourself – lots of paper towels in here – and I'll find you some clothes. I won't be long.”

She hustled out, and Fangmeyer stepped to the nearest dispenser to collect towels. Patting her coat dry, she had a long, silent conversation with the tigress in the room's large mirror, debating whether this was the time, and trying to ignore the tremble that was setting in, and not really getting anywhere with either.

She wasn't quite dry when the snow leopard returned, clutching new clothes, so they collected some towels of their own and helped her to deal with the remaining damp spots. When Fangmeyer was finally dry enough to think about dressing, though, she didn't get the chance, for Fabienne embraced her, one paw on the small of her back, the other higher up, their face pressed into the top of her chest.

“You're trembling,” the smaller cat observed, quietly.

The tigress returned the hug, nuzzling Fabienne's brow gently. “So are you. It can happen after you've stared death in the face.”

The snow leopard rubbed her fingers into the bigger cat's thick fur. “If it's all the same to you, I really don't want to dwell on that. I'd much rather distract myself with a tall, handsome, naked tiger.” A beat, then a grimace twisted her face. “And I could probably have phrased that a little better...”

Fangmeyer laughed, holding her a little closer. “Handsome?”

Fabienne shifted just enough to be able to look up at the tiger. “Well, 'pretty' really doesn't fit, and while you do have a certain beauty, that isn't quite right, either, so yes, handsome.” A light playfulness grew in her eyes. “You'd make a good model, actually.”

Fangmeyer shook her head. “I'd never have the courage. How you do it I'll never know.”

“It's not hard,” Fabienne persisted. “You just have to lounge around in the nude for an hour or two.”

“The 'nude' part's the problem.” The tiger's ears had coloured faintly.

“You're nude now,” the snow leopard reasoned.

“With you.” Fangmeyer nosed her scalp. “If anyone else were to walk in right now I'd panic, but with you...it's fine.” She chuckled. “In fact, I actually kind of _like_ it.”

Fabienne rose on tiptoes, until she could fully nuzzle the tiger's snout, then rest their cheeks together. “We _really_ need to have that talk.”

“The moment Rudderly's locked up, we will,” Fangmeyer vowed, her paw cradling the back of the other cat's head.

“Although...” Fabienne shifted so their noses touched, their whiskers brushed, and their eyes locked. “I think I already know what I want...”

Muzzles rolled slowly, but just before lips could touch a knock came at the door. The snow leopard sighed.

“Hold that thought.” She kissed the tiger's nose, then slipped away.

Fangmeyer began to dress. “I've been holding it for years. What's one more day?”

 


	4. Where You Belong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little violence and the odd drop of blood in this last chapter, but nothing graphic.

Fangmeyer stared out of her apartment window, her paws resting on the sill and her tail swaying restlessly. Most of the street outside was dark, just shadows and silhouettes, but there were a few splashes of light from street illuminations and windows. She hadn't seen a soul in almost an hour, not even a passing car, thanks to the late hour and the violent wind roaring through, but she wasn't ready to relax just yet.

A paw settled on her upper back, and a chin on her shoulder. “Well?”

“Still nothing. Maybe he was just passing through?”

“Maybe. How much longer are you going to keep watch?”

“With how bad the weather's gotten, half an hour at most.”

“Good.” Fabienne nosed the tiger's neck. “Maybe we'll have time for a round or two of blackjack.”

Fangmeyer chuckled softly. “Who ever would have guessed that Miss Fabienne Growley, esteemed newscaster, was also a card shark?”

“Everyone has their secrets,” the snow leopard demurred, with a light laugh of her own. “Any you'd care to share?”

The tiger looked thoughtful. “Well, there's...” She stiffened. “There's movement down the street...”

Fabienne followed her gaze. A figure, tall and strong and moving with real purpose, came along the road, keeping to the shadows, hustling a much smaller, stumbling one before them. Only when they were right across from the apartment did they finally step under a streetlight, and the snow leopard felt a chill run through her.

Rudderly stared unblinkingly up at the window as he pulled an elderly female skunk in front of him, one paw holding a long, glittering knife to her cheek. She was naked, and shivering, and leant on a cane with a handle shaped like a duck's head, but still carried herself with a quiet dignity. The big otter pointed at her, then at Fabienne, then held up all the digits of one paw.

“He wants to make a swap,” the snow leopard deduced, tone as tight as her expression. “And we have five minutes.”

“And I know that skunk; Higgins was stationed at her apartment up the street to keep a lookout.” The tiger grabbed her radio. “Fangmeyer to Higgins.” No answer. “Higgins, come in.” Still silence. “Higgins!” She cursed under her breath, then changed channel. “Fangmeyer to base; urgent for Bogo.”

The Chief's voice rang out in reply. _“Report.”_

“Rudderly's here, and he's got a hostage: Rosie Scentborough. We've five minutes to exchange her for Ms Growley. I can't raise Higgins.”

Bogo cursed. _“I'll divert some back-up your way, but they'll be at least twenty minutes. If worst comes to worst, and you believe that drastic measures are needed, you have my permission.”_

“Understood, Sir.” Fangmeyer's tone was leaden.

“ _Keep in touch. Bogo out.”_

“Yes, Sir. Out.” The tigress put her radio into her pocket and sagged.

Fabienne's ears were bolt upright. “'Drastic measures'? If you mean that poor skunk's life will be forfeit to save mine...”

“Never.” Fangmeyer's head snapped up, eyes blazing. “I won't let him hurt either of you.” She drooped again. “But to do that, I might have to kill him. I've...never taken a life before...”

Fabienne stepped closer, resting a paw on the tiger's chest. “And you won't now, if I have anything to say about it.”

The tigress managed a smile, took a breath, checked her tranq pistol was in her desk drawer and loaded, then returned to the window. On the street, Rudderly had just one finger up and the skunk's tremor had worsened; at a beckoning signal from Fangmeyer the otter nodded and started forward, shoving the skunk before him.

Fabienne positioned herself across the room from the door, while the tiger waited by it. The moment she heard footsteps nearing she eased it open and retreated to stand by the snow leopard. A dishevelled and shivering Mrs Scentborough entered first, but she kept her head high, and nodded polite greetings to the felines. Then the door's frame was filled by Rudderly's imposing form; he pushed the skunk further in, laid the knife against her throat, and his eyes locked on Fabienne.

A sickly grin split his muzzle, and he spoke in a deep, unctuous voice with a twist of something that set hackles rising. “Come to me, my pet, and I'll let the old stinker go.”

“Stinker?” Mrs Scentborough sniffed, cane shifting in her paws.

“Let her go first,” Fabienne insisted.

Rudderly chuckled darkly. “No. I get _you_ , or the little old lady gets her throat cut.” He pressed the blade a fraction closer to the skunk's neck.

Mrs Scentborough's eyes narrowed. “You really are _very_ rude.”

The otter growled. “Kindly zip your muzzle, stinker.”

“Very rude _indeed_.” The skunk shifted her cane again, then slammed the head of it hard into his groin.

Rudderly wheezed and buckled, knife paw falling; Fangmeyer lunged forward to seize it and slam it against the door frame, jolting the blade loose; Fabienne darted in to sweep Mrs Scentborough away, carrying the skunk to the desk. Cradling them close to her chest with one paw, she grabbed the trang gun with the other.

A roaring Rudderly tackled Fangmeyer forcefully enough for the tiger to overbalance and crash to the floor with the otter on top of her. His paws went right for her neck, hers catching his wrists and straining to hold them off, while her legs fought to lever him away. She threw him to one side just before Fabienne could fire, sending him crashing into a small table near the window, shattering it into fragments.

Snatching a shard of a leg up Rudderly hurled it at the snow leopard's head; she ducked and stumbled away from it, very nearly fetching up against the other end of the window. The otter flung another chunk of wood a second before Fangmeyer got to him, this one jolting the tranq gun from the snow leopard's paw so hard it smashed through the glass to to be swept into a wild tumble by the wind, finally rupturing on the spiked railing that bordered the apartment building.

As heavy gusts billowed inside Fabienne hit the floor and scrambled behind the desk, clutching Mrs Scentborough even closer and nursing her bloodied paw. She peered over, taut with anxiety, as Rudderly and an incensed Fangmeyer brawled around the windswept room, a brutal free-for-all of punches, kicks, claw swipes, charges, throws and slams that reduced everything bar the desk to rubble and them to panting, ragged, blood-streaked messes.

The otter managed to drive his shoulder into the centre of the tigress' stomach at the same time as she landed a heavy blow to his side; they stumbled away from each other, then straightened up as much as they could and glared at each other. Fangmeyer had her back to the broken window, Rudderly his to the wall opposite. She wiped blood from her nose, squared her feet, and spread her arms; he grunted, spat red on the floor, dropped his head, and shot towards her.

The tigress' eyes widened and she flung herself to one side, the otter missing her by a literal whisker. He tried to scrabble to a halt but had too much momentum, hitting the window and pitching out of it with a guttural scream. Fangmeyer dived to try and catch him but failed, and could only stand and cringe, expression sickened, at the sharp, metallic thunk that followed a second afterwards.

Fabienne stood and stepped forward, morbid curiosity driving her to see, but the tiger held out a warning paw.

“Don't.” Fangmeyer's tone was leaden. “He landed on the railing.”

“Oh, God.” The snow leopard paled.

Mrs Scentborough sighed, finally relaxing her grip on her cane. “I fear he was always going to come to an end like that.”

“True.” Fangmeyer nodded, took a breath, then pulled her radio from her pocket; it broke apart in her paw. “Blast. I'll secure the body and wait for the backup; you look after Mrs Scentborough.” She grabbed a spare sheet from her closet and hurried out.

Fabienne rushed into the bedroom, shutting the door to keep out the wind, and leaning on it with a very long sigh. She felt the skunk huddle closer to her chest, a shiver still running through their body, then they abruptly pulled back, looking contrite.

“I'm sorry, dear,” Mrs Scentborough apologised. “Force of habit.”

Something close to a smile surfacing, the snow leopard moved to sit cross-legged on the bed. “I don't mind. In fact...” She unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it open. “I think you've earned a little indulgence.”

The skunk laughed. “Well, I could hardly let such coarse manners go unpunished, now could I?” She laid her cane aside, then herself upon the cat's lushly-furred torso, head resting on the ruff at the top of their chest. “And call me Rosie.”

“All right.” Fabienne curled her paws around their side and hip. “Good to meet you, Rosie.”

“The pleasure's all mine, dear; you really are as nice as you seem on TV. Officer Fangmeyer is a very lucky mammal.”

The snow leopard blushed lightly. “What makes you think...?”

Rosie chuckled. “My eyes do still work, you know. I saw how fiercely she defended you, and how worried you were for her. You two are as drawn to each other as Elsa and I were, back in the day.”

“Elsa?” Fabienne's eyes widened. “You had a...?”

“Girlfriend? Yes.” The old skunk's expression turned melancholic. “In secret, for many years, since such things may have been legal, but still weren't much approved of, not until fairly recently. Our being different species – really different – didn't help, either.”

“Different...?” The snow leopard gasped softly. “So _that_ 's why you're living in a large mammal apartment.”

“Elsa was a lioness.” A smile warmed Rosie's muzzle. “Golden-furred and graceful, soft-spoken and bespectacled, and had an impish streak wider than my tail stripes. She...” The skunk trailed off at the sound of the apartment door opening. “Another time, perhaps. Thank you for humouring an old lady's whims.”

“No trouble at all.” Fabienne helped Rosie to the floor, then buttoned up her blouse and stood.

Before they could reach the bedroom door it opened, and Judy Hopps came bustling in, Nick Wilde close behind. The rabbit was in the midst of a rapid-fire speech.

“...full of bomb-making equipment and pictures of Mmm...” She froze, staring dumbly at Mrs Scentborough, the last syllable continuing like a looped record.

Nick lightly rapped on her skull, smirking. “I'm sorry; your Judy 9000 has crashed; recommend rebooting.” He wound up a foot, aiming it at her rear end.

“...mmmmy fist hitting your face if you try that, Wilde!” Judy snapped back to life, whipping round to glare at the fox. The glower was turned on Fangmeyer, looming behind them, too. “And why didn't you think to tell me she'd be n...n...”

“Naked, dear?” Mrs Scentborough asked, serenely. “Well, I _was_ taken just before I could get into my bath. By the way – do you know what's happened to that charming Officer Higgins?”

Judy forced herself to look back round, fixing her gaze on the skunk's face. “He took a blow to the head, but he'll recover.”

“Luckily, his skull appears to be hewn from reinforced concrete,” Nick supplied. “And your apartment was barely damaged, so you're fine to go back, if you wish.”

“Thank you, but I think I'll finally take my grand-niece's offer up,” Mrs Scentborough answered. “I could use some company.”

“We'll get a car to take you,” Fangmeyer offered.

“And you're welcome to visit me,” Fabienne chimed in. “Any time. I'd love to hear more about Elsa.”

“Thank you, both.” The skunk dipped her head gratefully. She looked at Judy. “And you really needn't be so awkward, dear; after all, you're not seeing anything unnatural. Quite the opposite.”

The rabbit relaxed a little, chuckling quietly, and ushered the elderly mammal from the room. “You wouldn't happen to be a member of the Mystic Spring Oasis, would you?”

Mrs Scentborough grinned. “Life. I heard what happened recently. I do hope Yax is all right...”

“He's back to his usual charming self,” Nick assured her, as they exited the apartment. “Though apparently he's now planning...”

His voice faded, along with their footsteps. Fangmeyer turned to the snow leopard with a wry smile. “Quite something, isn't she?”

“Inspiring, I'd say. Are we finally free to have that talk?”

“Well, the coroner's coming for Rudderly's body, Snarlov and Wolford are taking charge of the scene, and the Chief's practically ordered me to take a day or three off, so...yes. Would you mind if I stayed with you for a while?”

Fabienne's smile lit up her face. “Not in the slightest.”

 

\- - - - -

 

Two hours later, close to midnight, Fangmeyer walked into the lounge of the snow leopard's fairly modest, elegant yet homely house, freshly showered and clad in a dressing gown, to find her seated at her piano playing a slow, rhythmic, atmospheric piece. That she was peacefully nude seemed only natural.

“Beethooven's Moonlight Sonata,” Fabienne explained. “I find it quite soothing.” She tilted her head toward a nearby couch with a low table in front of it, on which the tigress' pad and pencils were laid out. “I was rather hoping you'd sketch me while I play.”

“It'd be my pleasure.” Smiling, Fangmeyer crossed to the sofa, letting her dressing gown slide off before she sat down, opening the pad to a fresh sheet and picking up a pencil. “And then we can finally have that talk we keep talking about.”

The tigress kept her work loose and light, and didn't let herself linger on anything, so in the few minutes it took the snow leopard to reach the end of the sonata's second movement she had a decent sketch of them playing. Fabienne closed the piano's lid and stood up, so she set the pad on the table for them to see and lay back along the couch.

“Not playing the last movement?” Fangmeyer asked.

“A little beyond my level, I'm afraid,” the snow leopard admitted with a soft chuckle. She picked up the tiger's sketch, and smiled. “You keep flattering me, Lina; I swear I don't look that lovely.”

“Just drawing what I see,” Fangmeyer replied, with no small warmth.

Fabienne's ears coloured. She put the pad back then moved to stand by the sofa, looking down on the tigress. “But I don't wear that earring any more. It didn't feel right after we lost touch.”

Lina reached up to brush the other cat's side. “What about now?”

“Now...?” Fabienne knelt down and leant over, her face hovering just above Fangmeyer's. “It depends. Does you giving it to me mean what I've always hoped it meant?”

One of the tiger's paws settled on the snow leopard's upper back, the other on the top of their head, and drew them into a whispering press of muzzles. Lina's eyes were bright with feeling. “It meant _that_ , Bee. It meant I thought I was falling in love with you.”

Fabienne's eyes began to glisten. “And now?”

“Now it means I _know_ I'm in love with you. I just hope you feel...”

She was cut off by the snow leopard's lips catching hers quite firmly, and with palpable affection. “What do you think?”

Lina laughed, just a little giddily, then her voice softened. “I think I've finished talking.”

Bee laughed too, and shifted fluidly to lie atop the tigress. They softly rubbed noses, then their muzzles blended deeply in a kiss as tender as it was long, and it lingered enough for them to be panting lightly when they finally parted.

Fabienne nestled her cheek against Lina's. “Took us long enough.”

Fangmeyer stroked the length of their back, nuzzled them, and closed her eyes. “Better late than never.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Elsa's a nod to someone, but not who you likely think! :-p
> 
> Also, Rosie Scentborough does owe a tiny something to Slappy Squirrel of Animaniacs fame.


End file.
